Cell phone handover.
He looks at me. “Kansas?”
Bizarre, I know.It’s a family thing, I type after getting the phone back.My mom chose our names by closing her eyes and putting her finger on the map of the United States. If she didn’t land on a city, it became the state.
I shoot the phone back a few feet to River.
The map was Mom’s idea. She was so young, and her head was full of nonsense. I wonder how she ever suited a serious man like Dad.
Why am I even telling him this?
River reads the text, stands, and walks toward me on the ledge of the bridge. “Lucky.” He grins. “Imagine if she had landed on Mooselookmeguntic in Maine or just Kentucky... or Washington or Illinois. Not to mention Connecticut.”
If he stumbles now, he can forget about Yosemite. He must be completely crazy. But he doesn’t seem a bit unsure—more like an acrobat. And he’s coming closer!
“Now, don’t look so shocked, Kentucky. This isn’t even risky, at least not for me. And apart from that, only those near death feel truly alive.”
I don’t understand anything anymore—or what frightens me more: that he’s putting his life in danger or that he’s coming toward me. This is too much; he is too much. Today, everythingis too much.River, all over me. As if in slow motion, I open my left fist and spread my fingers to loosen them because they’re almost numb.
He reaches me and hands me the phone. He’s too close. Way too close. I stiffen and briefly hold my breath. Then, I smell his aftershave—or maybe just him. A wild, bitter blend of leather, forest, and herbs. Alcohol and masculinity.
Part of me wants him to disappear, but he won’t think about it.
Why are you called River?I type out of sheer desperation so he doesn’t notice how confused I am.Are your parents hippies, New Age, or something?
He leans down, reads, and stands again. Tentatively, I inhale.
“My brother’s name isn’t Leaf or Rainbow.” He looks at me piercingly, the sun behind him, casting his face in shadow. He’s tall with broad shoulders. A tremor runs through me, but it’s not only fear; it’s also excitement. He’s nice to me. He saved me. He doesn’t ask for my words. I still can’t tell the color of his eyes, but they seem dark. I don’t dare look at him any longer, so I glance away. “We’re getting off the bridge now, Kentucky, no matter what else you had planned here.” He holds his hand out to me, but I remain on the edge. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school?”
My gaze darkens.
“Understood.”
I doubt that. For him, school was probably not the cruelest place in the world.
River backs away a bit but keeps his hand outstretched. I could jump now. All I would have to do is slide all the way to the front and fall.
Would he be faster and grab me?
I peer downward again.Everything that seemed unfixable... suddenly feels fixable...
Something arises within me, a feeling for which I have no words. A mixture of sadness and happiness.
“Kansas, come on.” River’s voice sounds warm as he says it, warm, familiar, and smoky, a bit like whiskey and as if he’s said that name countless times before. Like he knows me and is my friend. Someone who takes me seriously and never laughs at me. In that moment, I realized how much I longed for someone like that.
I look over my shoulder and see River standing right behind me. For the first time, I see the color of his eyes as the wind blows his hair off his face: a bright, deep blue that’s incredibly dark, with a mysterious sparkle and anger. His mouth is sweetly curved and a little too cocky. If he weren’t so nice, I’d say he was arrogant.
“Hey, Kentucky, don’t leave me hanging.” Now, he suddenly sounds lost, like an angel banished from paradise—like he truly wants me to go with him. As if he didn’t just say that to stop me from jumping, but also to stop me from being alone.
But I can’t go with him, just like I can’t jump here in front of him. Death is something that cannot be shared, even if River or Tolstoy claim otherwise. And apart from that, I don’t even know if I want to jump today. I’d have to stay on the bridge for a while longer and think about it.
Besides, he’s too close to me.
I could pretend to go with him, then part ways and come back here. Or go home and call in sick. Or jump from the windowsill and hope I only break my leg. But even then, I’d eventually have to go back to school, and it’s hard to hide in the basement cupboard with crutches.
River is still looking at me. He won’t leave me up here alone; his eyes make that very clear, as do his raised eyebrows.
So, I rise and wipe my dusty hands on my damp pants.
